


Words Spoken

by aspecialsomeone



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light, F/M, Light Angst, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 03:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13355784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspecialsomeone/pseuds/aspecialsomeone
Summary: You said those words to him—out of impulse, out of fear, out of love.





	Words Spoken

“I love you.”

The first time you uttered those words, you whispered them softly as your lungs felt filled with smoke and fire, and the freezing air grazed harshly against your exposed, bruised cheeks. Through the curtain made of your stray strands of hair, you saw an armored man that knelt before you, showing such a fragility so unaccustomed to his normal demeanor. You saw the frustration in the creases around his mouth, teeth peering out from the cliffs of his lips, as he gripped the dragon eyes as the protective light dissipated around your figures. You saw it in the stiffness of his shoulders, the rising and falling of his chest—he had never trusted anyone with the grit of battle, other than himself. He had fought alone, shared the scars and losses alone—always alone, even in the waves of company that ebbed around him now and again. 

His figure mirrored where your shadow stood, while your thoughts connected the dots and filled the spaces of your mind: _he was just like you_. 

You said the words almost out of pity for yourself, out of self-want, for maybe you had found the one to understand you. You said them out of impulse in the moment as the barrier cracked under the violent, unending weight of Nidhogg’s fury. You said them so quietly, longingly, waiting for the screaming of the winds to silence itself to hear a reply. You said them, because you had come to care for him, to worry for him, to muster a spark of affection and doting curiosity for him and his reserved disposition. And to be loved— _how nice it must be_ , to feel loved, not that you felt that you knew of any sort first hand outside of the romantic stories told from old tales—if love was not meant to be given to you, it could be given to him.

As you both departed the Aery on the back of your feathered mount to reconvene with your traveling companions, you wondered if he had heard you say those words, as he rode back with you in numbing silence.

 

—

Your love must have been so cruel and so shallow, to have had it end up like this.

The second time you said the words, you spoke them with a strong huff of affirmation and brevity through your gasps of air and piercing cries. You did not speak them for yourself, nor did you speak them to hear a reply; the confession was pulled forcefully from the depths of your throat out of burning desperation as your battered hands clawed at his chest, like a vulture tearing at its bloodied prey. The eyes were devouring him, hungrily swallowing his heart and mind and soul from the shell of his body. 

You had never heard such a warrior scream as he did—you had heard screams from the shock of wounds, or of sadness, or through thundering battle cries—but this sound ringing from your armored companion, piercing your eardrums through a barrage of needles, was of fear. Unparalleled fear, a fear that could not be combated with any ounce of strength, pride or perseverance. 

You said the words louder again—then faster, breathier—until the eyes released its hostage and Estinien collapsed onto the cold stone and snow, unconscious and quiet. And as you threw the eyes into the hellish blackness of Ishgard below, you ran to his body to cradle him in your arms.

 

—

You said the words once more, on your umpteenth infirmary visit. You said them as you brushed his hair lovingly away from sculpted bridge of his nose. You said them under the breath of a prayer as you felt your elbows sink further and further into the feathered bedding. 

Gods, all the healing teachings from your mentors back in Gridania could not help him out of his slumber. They informed you they did not know how long it would take for him to awaken from his vegetative state, nor did they know of what had become of his mind. But he breathed, and lived, for what had been weeks now; Estinien’s eyes had danced occassionally under his eyelids, and his head rolled slightly back and forth along the woven pillow, as if searching for the light to warm him back to the surface.

You were not sure how long you had sat there that particular day—it was long enough that there was a spreading numbness in your backside that found their way to your reddened eyes. But you wanted to see him, and stay with him—and by the Twelve, if this was his death bed, you would be the friend to escort him to the other side. 

Through the stained glass, glossy and ornate with the evening frost and snow, you saw the silvery pools of the dawn spill over the spires of the city. The fight for strength had been combated well, but you fell victim to the fatal swing of the early hours as you felt yourself lean more into the bed, placing your head on his forearm that lied above the neatly tucked sheets. 

And once more—once more, you said those words.

And as the sleepiness took you into its comforting arms, you could have sworn to feel a small tremor under the mountains of blankets.

You could have sworn you had heard him whisper those words back.


End file.
